


with love

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1990s, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, But only if you squint, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Friendship, First Time Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pen Pals, Pillow Talk, Slow Build, marking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: May 28th, 1990Billy,Hi. It’s Steve. Harrington. Don’t know if you remember me but we went to school together back in 84? Before you almost died? Yeah. I haven’t written a letter in like, I don’t know, man, years. Since I was forced to write an apology essay to Mr. Matthews for saying he has a tiny penis. I stand by my words by the way. But yeah, Max spoke a shit load about you when she came back from California last week.aka pen pals au
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington
Comments: 58
Kudos: 371





	1. Chapter 1

**May 28 th, 1990**

_Billy,_

_Hi. It’s Steve. Harrington. Don’t know if you remember me but we went to school together back in 84? Before you almost died? Yeah. I haven’t written a letter in like, I don’t know, man, years. Since I was forced to write an apology essay to Mr. Matthews for saying he has a tiny penis. I stand by my words by the way. But yeah, Max spoke a shit load about you_ _when she came back from California last week._  
  
_She said you’re studying marine biology. Which is really cool. Not what I expected, but then again, we weren’t all that close for me to assume shit about you_ _.  
  
_ _That’s why I’m writing this, actually. You kind of left before we had the chance to clear shit between us. I’m not expecting a reply or anything, just want you to know we’re cool. No hard feelings._  
  
_Good luck with life, man._

_—Steve_

Billy lifts his eyes from the letter, looks ahead, at the seagulls. At the ebb and flow of waves. A smile finds his lips unsolicited, lifts one corner, makes him heave a breath and glance back at the paper fluttering in his hands. He traps it between the pages of his book and leans back on his hands, fingers sinking into sand.  
  
It’s been a while. _Years_. Almost five. He never stopped to contemplate how Hawkins’ residents would even react to his departure. All he cared about was getting away. From his dad and from every ichor-dowsed memory etched into his mind. Into his skin.  
  
Over the past few years he’d gotten a few letters from Max. Updates about her studies and about Neil and Susan. He’s still in contact with her. In fact, he talks to her every other day to make sure she’s doing well. They sometimes fight about money because she’s _working and doesn’t need no man,_ to which Billy grits out that he doesn’t wanna hear her _feminist bullshit_ and that he’s sending her money anyway. It’s safe to say that their relationship has gotten better ever since he put Hawkins in his rear-view mirror.  
  
He’d gotten one envelope from Carol and Tommy somewhere in the summer of ‘88, an invitation to their wedding which he politely declined by attaching a ‘can’t make it. hope this would make up for it. and for tommy’s lack of skill between the sheets ;)’ card to his wedding present. Which was a sex toy he’s sure they both appreciated.

But Steve.

Steve Harrington is the last person on Billy’s ‘People Who Want Anything to Do with Me’ list. Actually, Billy doubts he’s on there at all. Of all people, he’d never expected him to touch base. Not when Billy tormented him throughout senior year. Not when he stole his friends and beat him to the ground and almost fucking killed him.

Max always spoke of Steve’s kindness and his chimeric ability to hold grudges with aggravated fondness. The letter only proved her point.

Billy rolls his eyes, hanging his head back. They’re fine. No grudges. No hard feelings. There’s literally no reason for Billy to write back. There’s nothing else to say. It’s a bland alley.

“Fuck it.” He’s reaching for the pinky-length pencil behind his ear before he can overthink it.

**__________________**

**June 12 th, 1990**

Steve wasn’t expecting a reply. Somewhere in his mind, he’d expected Billy to read the name of the sender and shred the letter. He wouldn’t have put it past Billy to put the shredded paper in an envelope and send it back.

But Max had told him Billy’s much better now. That he doesn’t call her Maxine anymore. That he makes her laugh. That he remembers her birthday and sends her gifts. That last time it had been a custom-made skateboard with MADMAX written across the bottom of it.

But Steve dismissed it all as guilt. Billy felt guilty for the way he treated Max and wanted to compensate.

So yeah, he’s pretty fucking surprised when Billy writes back. He lets the letter lay around for a week, too busy with work until he’s sitting on his bed in his PJs, glasses propped on the bridge of his nose, and Billy’s letter in his hand.

_Harrington,_

_Who the fuck starts a letter with ‘hi’? Weirdo. Ya, sadly I do remember you. Max mentions you every once in a while. Never told me what you do though. Working? Studying? Still in buttfuck nowhere, Indiana? If you are, do tell Mrs. Wheeler that I’m a phone call away and that she shouldn’t be shy ;)_

_I’m studying marine biology, that’s right. Applied for a full-ride scholarship back in ‘87. I made sure to talk about my “heroic act” and I think that's the reason I was accepted. Not sure what I want to do with my degree though. Maybe train dolphins or something._

_Good to know we’re on good terms, Harrington. Write back soon and start with something spicier than ‘hi’._

_~Billy_

**__________________**

**June 15 th, 1990**

“Can you stop sending me money? Like, seriously. It’s getting really annoying and I think you’re just doing it out of spite,” Max says it all in a single breath the second Billy lifts the handle to his ear. “Are you listening to me?”

“Ya,” Billy answers, sounding bored and inattentive.

“William Anthony Hargrove!”

Billy winces.

“If you send me one more batch of money, I’m sending it right back,” Max continues, finality in her words. She shifts the conversation before he can draw it out. “Steve says you two are talking.”

“Steve?” Billy plays oblivious as he smacks his mouth noisily around a mouthful of mayonnaise. “Who?”

“Harrington, Billy,” Max tuts. He can tell she’s rolling her eyes. “Said you wrote back or something.”

Billy snorts. “In his fucking dreams,” he chuckles, pointing his spoon in the air. “You tell him I said that.” 

Max stays silent for a moment, like she’s hearing in. “You’re taking your meds, right?” she asks when the silence has Billy putting the spoon down with an eye-roll.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His molars grate against each other and the burn of his toes against the floorboards as he curls them is beyond welcome. “Yep,” he says, casual. “I’m not a kid you know.”

“I know,” Max hurries to explain herself. “I know. I’m just. Worried. I’m allowed to be.”

Billy smiles to himself, nodding once. “Ok, shitbird. Gotta hang up before you get all sappy.”

Max sighs. “Whatever. Bye.”

**__________________**

**June 26 th, 1990**

_Hargrove,_

_I think it’s time you call me by my name. Seriously, man. It’s just 5 letters._

_I’m not studying, no. I’m bartending and working on some pieces. My parents are IN. HYSTERICS._

_It’s none of my business, but w_ _hy would you choose to study marine biology if you have no idea where to go from there? On a whim or something?_

_Mrs. Wheeler s_ _ays_ _she’s not interested in you now that you’re legal. Sorry, bud._

_I don't know if you've heard already but Nancy and Jonathan are getting married in July. You going to be there?_

_Write back soon. Or don’t._

_— Steve_

**__________________**

**July 4 th, 1990**

The fireworks don’t stop. Billy buries his nails into the palms of his hands, swallows past the lump in his throat. The firecrackers swallow the riff of the guitar blaring from his boombox.

He forces himself to breathe.

**__________________**

**July 8 th, 1990**

_Harrington,_

_I’ll call you whatever I damn well please._

_Pieces? Like music? If so, Mother Goose rhymes or real music? I’d like to hear what you got. Your parents can carve their opinions into a stick and fuck themselves with it. Tell them I said that._

_I chose my major because the sea brings out my eyes._ _Want to_ _see?_

_You telling me Wheeler and Byers lasted? Wait, no. You’re telling me they’re going to have to… consummate their marriage?? Like dick and pussy? Bumping nasties? Damn. Hawkins really has changed._

_About the invitation, I think I’ll pass. Sleeping in a church is less comfortable than sleeping in my bed. Thanks though, pretty boy. Give them my wholehearted blessings._

_And what about you? No hole to fuck?_

_Write back soon, doll._

_~Billy_

**__________________**

**July 19 th, 1990**

_Hargrove,_

_Music. Art. I was never smart at school. Studying isn’t my thing and I’ve come to terms with it I guess. My parents haven’t and they want me to repeat senior year for a higher GPA. No nursery rhymes. I play. Guitar. And I like to think I’m pretty damn good at it._

_Painting is a work in progress. After everything that went down in 85, I started to lash out a lot. Will told me he used to draw to cope so I gave it a shot and it kind of just… stuck with me. You know?_

_I’m not sure if that’s an actual question or not, but yeah, I would like to see. I’ve never been to the beach._

_I see you still hate Nancy and Jonathan. They’re not all that bad. Give them a break._

_And no, I'm not with anyone. I haven’t had time. Did go on a few dates with Stacy Hayes but it didn't work out. You? Max said you had a girl last time she saw you. Did she hang around or did she come to her senses and dump you?_

_— Steve_

**__________________**

**August 1 st, 1990**

There are three photos in the envelope. One is of the beach. It’s mostly empty, seagulls all over and a fluffy puppy running across the frame. Steve smiles, puts it aside so he can hang it on the wall later.

The second photo is a closer view. Waves crashing against a gathering of rocks. It steals the air out of Steve’s lungs. These photos would make Jonathan feel like shit. Which is a pretty mean thought, but Steve can’t help it. He knows how insecure Jonathan sometimes gets when he’s comparing his photography with others’. Even now, when he works for Indiana's best magazine.

The last photo is of Billy. He’s holding his surfboard under one arm, his other fist lifted. He’s smiling, all white teeth and dimpled cheeks. He’s not wearing a shirt, the silver scars on his torso on full display. Steve likes it. Happiness suits that fucker.

He upends the envelope until a folded paper falls out and he pointedly ignores the spark of excitement as he licks his fingers and thumbs it open.

_Harrington,  
  
That’s sexy. Confidence is fucking sexy, Steve. I’m surprised girls aren’t swarming all over you._

_I would like to see your p_ _aintings_ _as well. If you’d let me._

_Pictures attached._

_I don’t hate Wheeler and Byers. I just don’t necessarily like the idea of them. Johnny-boy’s okay. Gave me the best weed back when I was recovering and no one would let me smoke._

_Max lied._

_~Billy_

_PS: I do want to listen to your music. Send that shit my way._

Steve folds the paper and places it on his bedside table. He doesn’t think much of it when he slides under his sheets and falls asleep with the ghost of a smile on his lips and the imprint of Billy's longhand on the back of his eyelids.

**__________________**

**August 11 th, 1990**

_Hargrove,_

_Thank you for the photos. Didn’t know I could_ _feel_ _nostalgia_ _for a place I’ve never been. Cali_ _fornia_ _seems great. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself._

_Are you still smoking or did you quit when you lost a lung? Dying young wouldn’t suit you, man._

_So no girl? Must be miserable. Don’t sweat it though. A wise dude once said, “plenty of bitches in the sea.”_

_There’s a cassette in the envelope. It’s just a compilation of my stuff. Don’t judge too hard._

_— Steve_

_PS. you_ _’re right. Confidence is sexy._

Billy’s not sure what to make of the post scriptum. He’s not sure if Steve’s stroking his own ego or if he’s referring to the shirtless photo of Billy that he’d sent. Because sending that did take a lot of confidence. Far more confidence than taking the shirt off took in itself.

He shelves the thought for later contemplation and pulls the cassette out.

He’s got no idea what he’s expecting. He’s not ready either. Not for the shivers each strum sends up his spine, not for Steve’s humming. Like Steve had words, had a song for each piece but was too nervous to voice the lyrics. Billy wonders if he’s as good with his voice as he is with his fingers.

The wording of his thoughts has him clearing his throat and licking over his mouth. He flits through the soundtracks, falls in love with each one a little less than the next until he’s drifting off under the stroke and press of Steve’s fingers.

**__________________**

**August 15 th, 1990**

_Harrington,_

_Jesus fuck. Warn a guy next time._

_Cali is great. You haven’t lived until you’ve visited. If you want any more photos, just say the word._

_Smoking was purgative to me for the longest time. Ever since I moved here, my need to de-stress hasn’t been as bad. I do smoke occasionally. But I haven’t touched a cig since around, the end of June._

_No girl. And don’t go throwing my words back at me. Smartass._

_You’re fucking talented. I’ve been listening to that cassette on repeat. You sing? I get the feeling you sing. If you ever decide to do gigs or anything, hit me up. I'm sure those would be way more fun than Wheeler and Byers' wedding was._

_~Billy_

_PS: may have read your additional note wrong, but you calling me sexy, Steve?_

_PPS: if you are, I can’t blame you for having eyes._

**__________________**

**August 23 rd, 1990**

_Hargrove,_

_Don't want to exploit you, but I would like more photos. If that's okay._

_I'm glad you're staying healthy. I don't remember the last time I got my hand on a cigarette._

_Thanks for the compliment. Didn't think my stuff would be your style. Glad you enjoyed it though. And I do sing. A little._

_I've been meaning to ask you._ _A_ r _e you okay? After everything? The upside down shit fucked us all up but I think it fucked you up the most. If you don't want to talk about it, ignore this passage._

_— Steve_

_PS. You're so full of yourself._

**__________________**

**September 29 th, 1990**

_Steve,_

_Sorry for the late response. I've been a little busy with studies and honestly, your question caught me off guard._

_I still listen to your music. I don't compliment people out of politeness. I’m not a fucking_ _kiss-ass_ _._

_I'm okay. Have been okay for a while. My therapist is tired as fuck of me but I don't care. It's that bitch's job to help. I'm taking meds, if that's what you're asking. Surfing helps, even if it's harder with the torn ligaments and tendinitis. Being away from Hawkins helps. Talking to someone helps._

_What about you?_

_~Billy_

**__________________**

“We'll have two slippery nipples, please.”

“First of all, I don't ever want to hear those words coming from you ever again,” Steve states. “Secondly, can I see some ID?”

Max grouses under her breath and sits back in her stool, scowling. “You're just boring.”

“I'm _responsible_.”

“Yeah, yeah, same thing,” Max waves a hand.

“Wait. Shouldn't you two be at school?” Steve raises a brow between her and El, settles his eyes on Max when he realizes El's too busy eating peanuts from the bowl to show remorse under his disapproving gaze. “There’s a reason you were held back a year, Max.”

“Oh my god. Where's Robin? She's usually the fun one around here,” Max makes a show of looking over his shoulder.

Steve deadpans.

“Billy,” El suddenly says, lifting her eyes to look at Steve as she chews. “You're thinking about—”

“Okay!” Steve shouts. “Okay! Jesus Christ,” he gives them a soda each. “That's all you're getting. And _you_ ,” he points a finger at El. “Get outta my head. It's rude to go probing.”

El grins, all cheek. It’s hard not to smile back.

“Billy?” Max asks aloud. “Oh my god, _please_ don't tell me you have a crush on my brother or something.”

Steve scoffs. “I don't _have a crush on your brother_ ,” he says. “And stop eating those. It's gross,” he pulls the bowl of peanuts away from El and slides it across the bar. El uses her mind shit to slide it back in front of her.

Steve hates them both.

**__________________**

**October 12 th, 1990**

_Billy,_

_Thank you for finally addressing me by my first name. Didn't think you had it in you, tough stuff. You're just full of surprises._

_I wouldn't have minded if you ignored that part of my letter. I didn't mean to freak you out._

_But I'm happy you're getting better. I know you're not in contact with your dad anymore, maybe not even your mom. So if you ever need anything. Anything at all. You can always ask me. I wouldn't mind helping a friend._

_I’m okay. I knew about the upside down long before what went down in 85. I had time to let it sink in. Still a little paranoid but nothing serious._

_— Steve_

**__________________**

**November 1 st, 1990**

_Steve,_

_Calling you Harrington doesn’t seem to ruffle your feathers anymore. Don’t see the point of using it._

_You’re such a sentimental fuck. No, I’m not in contact with my mother. I tracked her down back when I first arrived in Cali. She’s happily married with twins. I’m happy for her. We’re on good terms. Not close. But we’re okay._

_Happy All Hallows Eve. Hope your costume was as sexy as mine. If you got any pictures, don’t hold out on me ;)_

_~Billy_

Steve stares at the photo attached. It’s a poorly made costume. Billy’s eyes are bloodshot as he glares at the camera, or whoever’s behind it. He’s not wearing a shirt. Just jeans. And stuffed tights wrapped around his torso and hanging off him limply. Steve tuts his tongue, rolling his eyes as he realizes what Billy’s dressed as. Laughs despite himself.

**__________________**

**November 13 th, 1990**

_Hargrove,_

_I hate you. Are you seriously dressed as the mindflayer?_

_…_ _Maybe I’m more annoyed that you managed to pull it off._

_I lost a bet to Robin and was forced to dress as Leia after suffering through_ _another_ _Star Wars marathon. Robin says it’s what I get for “objectifying” Leia by pointing out she’s sexy. Robin dressed as Indiana Jones. My original costume before losing the bet._

_Laugh all you want. I felt sexy._

_– Steve_

Billy’s certain Steve’s photo has ruined his standards for men. Steve’s _sexy_. Always has been and he fucking knows it. _Owns it._ So, yeah. He’s dressed in a woman’s costume. Carrie Fisher’s fucking slave outfit. He’s got one leg lifted onto a keg to show the pale, mole-dotted skin of his thigh. He looks wasted, eyes squinted, and lips puckered into an exaggerated kiss. Billy feels a kick of hot arousal in his gut. Licks over his lips and huffs a breath as he adjusts himself in his jeans. _Fuck_ , he’s _hard._

**__________________**

**November 23 rd, 1990**

_Steve,_

_Fuck._

_~Billy_

_PS: happy thanksgiving, doll. hope you got this in time._

It’s a day too late but Steve could care less about the thanksgiving wish, cheeks flushed red from reading Billy’s… pithy response. He has no idea what to make of it, and he’s shoved back in time, back to when Billy would grind on him on the court and breathe taunting words into his ear. Back to when Billy’d sit behind him in class and draw designs on his back using the tip of his finger. Back to the way he’d look him over in the locker room. It dawns on him like a bucket of freezing water. And yeah, ‘ _fuck_ _’_ sums it up pretty well.

He reaches for the phone and dials Robin’s number.

“What is it, Harrington? Why’d you interrupt my informative magazine-navigation?”

Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out as a sigh. “Is it possible to like guys as well as girls or is this my body crying out for sex?”

Robin stays silent for a second, then, “Finally. My time has come.”

**__________________**

“You’re telling me you’ve been exchanging letters with your high school foe for the past what? Half year?” Robin’s flitting through the letters casually, laying on her stomach with her feet kicking in the air slowly. “ _confidence is fucking sexy_ ,” she caricatures in a voice that doesn’t even come _close_ to Billy’s.

Steve snatches the letter from her. “Can you shut up and be helpful for like, one second, or is that too hard?”

Robin hums, playing contemplative before she rolls onto her back. “I dunno what you want me to say, Steve.”

Steve throws his arms in the air. “Um. I don’t know. How about ‘ _don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to one of my friends so you can end this dry spell you have going on_ _’_?”

Robin snorts. “I’m enjoying the sexuality crisis. Let a girl have fun.”

Steve glares. “I’m _not_ having a sexuality crisis,” there’s a pause. “I don’t like guys. I like girls. I fucking love girls and no, I’m not in denial. I love pussy more than pizza, and trust me, Rob, I love pizza.”

“So?” Robin lifts a shoulder. “You can like both.”

Steve stops pacing.

“You’re not obligated to even label it, Steve.”

He turns to face her. “I don’t _like_ Billy Hargrove.”

“I’ve been your best friend since the beginning of your musical journey and you’ve never once let me hear your stuff,” Robin quips, sitting up. “Pluuuus. You sent him sexy photos,” she sings.

“I did _not_ send him sexy photos,” Steve exclaims. “He’s just a friend!”

“Oh, to have a friend I can send sexy photos to,” Robin says, exaggeratedly wistful. She lays back down with a dreamy sigh. “Steve. Buddy. I’m not gonna sugar-coat it for you. You’re not straight.”

Steve runs the fingers of both hands through his hair, measuring his room with long strides.

“Now, let’s begin grieving your heterosexuality.”

“I’m not–”

“Step one, denial. Check.”

“Robin! Jesus, take this seriously!”

“Step two, anger. Check,” Robin smiles. “Damn, Steve. You’re dealing with this way faster than I did.”

Steve drops down next to her on the bed, running his hands over his face. “Fuck,” he exhales. “My parents are gonna love finding out I’m not only a failure, but one who likes guys too. Fuck.”

Robin sits up and edges a little closer to him to put a hand on his back. “Hey. You’ll get through this,” she puts her chin on his shoulder. “And once you do, there’ll be tonnes of hot men on the other side.”

Steve shoves her off, half-laughing, half-groaning. “I hate you,” he states. Fond despite himself. “So I guess I…” he huffs.

“Take your time.”

“How do I reply to _fuck_?”

**__________________**

**November 29 th, 1990**

_Billy,_

_Concise_ _._

_– Steve_

_PS. hope your thanksgiving went well. mine was just sharing an unnecessarily expensive meal with a bunch of bigots._

Steve feels like the one-worded response is too terse. But Billy was just as abrupt. He just hopes he gets a response and their little _amity_ doesn’t die out and have them never talking again.

It’s three days later that he receives a reply.

_Steve,_

_Tell Robin I said thank you_ _and that my whole thanksgiving was dedicated to her_ _. Jesus, Harrington. You’re a fucking sight for sore eyes. Fuck._

_Please tell me you’re not as dumb as you let on and you know I had the biggest fucking crush on you back in high school._

_~Billy  
  
  
_Steve stares at the letter for an embarrassingly long time. Fucking loses his breath every time because he _suspected._ Not that Billy was attracted to _him_ per se. But that he’s not all that straight. It had a lot to do with the way he pushed up against him and showed him his tongue whenever he had the chance. Had a lot to do with the way his eyes lingered in the showers. The way every girl he got with had a different all too sappy (and very not Billy) story that inevitably led to Billy driving her home without popping her cherry. Walking her to her house before dropping a kiss on the back of her hand. Because he’s a fucking _gentleman_ , you see.

But he’d always thought Billy’s handsy hostility when he got up in his face was him trying to assert dominance. Not–

“Jesus Christ.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn ok. this took way longer than i expected but! in my defence.
> 
> IN MY DEFENCE!!!
> 
> i wasnt doin anythin. im just lazy im so sorry.

**December 7 th, 1990**

_Billy,_

_You had quite the way of showing it. I don’t know about you, Hargrove, but I don’t think smashing a plate over someone’s head and giving them a concussion is the right way to go when you have a crush on them. That’s just me though.  
  
To answer your question, no_ _,_ _I didn’t know._ _Everyone’s always said I’m slow on the uptake. Guess this proves their point.  
  
I might be late to answer your next letter. Christmas preparations and all. My parents are visiting soon. How are you spending Christmas?_

_— Steve_

**__________________**

**December 14 th, 1990**

_Steve,_

_Since you brought that shit up, I think it’s time I apologized to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you that night, doll. I’d kiss it better if you lived a little closer._

_This is going to sound_ _fucked up,_ _but I enjoyed it. Getting to see the cuts and bruises I left on you, I mean.  
  
_ _It’s okay, not like your letters have me on the edge of my seat or anything. I have better things to do than sit around and wait for your majesty to grace me with them. About Christmas, I’m not sure. Off work so I’ll probably order pizza and hang around with friends. Not all that fun but I’d choose it over your Christmas any day._

_~Billy_

**__________________**

**December 20 th, 1990**

_Billy,_

_Fucking sadist. Of course you’d find that shit sexy._

_I remember the school talking about how you_ _‘_ _roughed me up_ _’_ _. It knocked me down a few notches. Thanks for ruining my high school experience,_ _asshole._ _And_ _thanks_ _for apologizing_ _I guess.  
  
I feel like you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t enjoy being pen pals with me. It’s okay, you can say it, Billy. We both know I’m a charmer. That’s why you had a crush on me, right?_

_—Steve_

_PS. kissing it better doesn’t sound all that bad._

**__________________**

**December 23 rd, 1990**

_Steve,_

_Hmm.. I don’t recall saying it was ‘sexy’, doll. You came up with that one on your own._

_Sorry for knocking the crown off that pretty head of yours. But you_ _exacted_ _your revenge. I was perforated by a creature from another dimension so let’s call it even_ , _yeah?_

 _It’s_ _actually_ _been weighing on my poor conscience for a while now._ _I mean, I was going to apologize sooner or later._ _I even had a talk with the Sinclair kid.  
  
_ _Being pen pals with you passes time. But don’t forget it was you who reached out first. And don’t let the crush thing go to your head. You were a pretty face amongst uglies. The lesser of all evils, let’s say._

_Merry Christmas, Stevie. Hope you’re spending it with people you love._

_Speaking of which, still no hole to fuck?_

_~Billy_

**__________________**

**January 11 th, 1991**

_Billy,_

_Sorry for the late response. Christmas didn’t go so well. My parents flew in and made sure I knew just how big of a disappointment I am_ _to them_ _._ _For people who talk about responsibility and independence so much, you’d think they wouldn’t try_ _horning in on_ _every aspect of my life._

_Sorry if it’s weird. That I’m talking to you about my family problems. Just felt like you’d relate. Or maybe just understand._

_Lucas told me you apologized. Thank you for that as well._

_How was your Christmas? And New Years? Hope they were better than mine._

_Nope. Still no partner. You? Max wanted to drive to C_ _alifornia_ _to spend New Years with you but you said you already had company. Finally found someone tasteless enough to jump into bed with you, Hargrove?_

_Write back soon._

_— Steve_

**__________________**

**January 23 rd, 1991**

_Steve,_

_Hey, you don’t gotta apologize, doll. I get it. I know this is going to sound shitty, but shitty is my middle name and you need some honesty_ _from a disinterested third party_ _._

_From personal experience, my life has gotten much better since I cut all ties with my dad. Sometimes you need to be a little selfish. For yourself_ _, y’know?_

_I know you live alone. At least that’s what I understood from Madmax. But what ties you to Hawkins besides your parents? The little shits are moving away for college soon. Tommy and Carol are married and somewhere in Buttfuck nowhere Colorado with a_ _litter of cunt kids_. _I don’t know about Robin but we had english and physics together and that bitch was a fucking genius. Too good a friend, I’m guessing? She staying in Hawkins to stay with you? You’re tying her down and your parents are tying you down._

 _I’m not saying it to hurt you, Steve. That’s the last thing I want to do. I just know how hard it is to weed_ _people_ _out of your life. And if your parents are the reason you feel like you’re a disappointment or whatever the fuck, then screw them. Just._ _Leave_ _. Because fuck knows they’re going to die one day and it’s going to be too late for you to get the fuck out._

_Christmas was boring. Who cares that Jesus was born. Bitch’s dead now._

_New Years was better. Hung out with friends and didn’t want Max around because she’s better off with hers._

_I feel like you’re quite invested in my sex life,_ _amigo_. _Something I need to know?_

_But no. No one good enough to stain my sheets. Yet._

_This is getting long as fuck so I’m going to cut it short. Have a good year._

_Love,_

_Billy._

**__________________**

**February 2 nd** **, 1991**

_Billy,_

_Thank you._ _Really_ _. You gave me a lot to think about. I know you weren’t trying to rub salt in the wound_ _and I appreciate the honesty. Even if it could’ve been worded nicer. What ‘is’ your middle name by the way?_

 _Jesus is our lord and savior. How dare you_ _take his name in vain after he died for your sins_ _?!_ _(Let it be known that I’m not all that religious)_

 _Slow down, lover boy._ _I’m not invested in your sex life. You were the one who asked me if I have a hole to fuck. Looking to score, Hargrove?_

_— Steve_

_PS. ‘Love, Billy’? Is there something ‘I’ need to know?_

**__________________**

**February 11 th** **, 1991**

_Steve,_

_No need to thank me. Maybe I’m trying to lure you to Cali so I can have my way with you and corrupt you beyond repair._ _;)  
  
My middle name is none of your concern, Steven Abe Harrington._

 _Oh, forgive me father for I have sinned._ ✞ ♥

_(Jesus is sexy. Just not my type. So I won’t shame you for your religious views)_

_I was asking out of curiosity but since you brought it up, what if I am? Looking to score, that is._ _Are you offering_ _, Stevie?_ _Would you let your high school bully have at you?_

_~Billy_

_PS: new year, new me. I was embracing my inner softie. You ruined it._

_  
_ There’s something _dirty_ about that question. _Are you offering?_ And Steve feels like something heavier underlies it. Maybe Billy’s asking about his sexuality. Maybe he’s trying to prove to himself that he’s still desirable. Steve isn’t sure. Doesn’t care. Not when want finds a way to overshadow everything else. 

**__________________**

**February 16 th** **, 1991**

_Billy,_

_I can’t believe it. Dry spell? Are you_ _so_ _desperate to get laid_ _you’d let passably okay me stain your sheets?  
  
Who told you my middle name? Mention it one more time, I dare you, ‘William’.  
  
I’m not religious. Never have been. You know, like when your parents force feed you a certain food and you grow up hating it? That’s me with God. Was forced to go to Church every Sunday and had to join youth groups and all that crap. That’s where I met Nancy for the first time. It stopped when I turned 14 though. I think. My parents started having problems and paid less attention to what I did. _

_How are studies_ _by the way_ _? You’re graduating this year, right? You got anything planned out or are you_ _still improvising?_

_— Steve_

_PS. Yeah, I would let you. If you lived a little closer._

  
Billy puts the letter down. Then folds it like hiding the words will stop the hammering of his heart against his ribs. He sucks in a breath and lifts the phone from where it’s been ringing for the past god knows how long. “Billy speaking.”  
  
“About time you picked up,” Max mutters. Her voice is a breath of fresh air after reading the intimacy of Steve’s postscript. Like a bucket of cold water.   
  
“What do you want, freckles?”  
  
“First of all, _you_ have nearly as much freckles as me from surfing all day. _Don’t_ call me that. Second of all,” her voice gets lower. Billy knows she’s cupping the phone like she’s whispering into his ear. _“Steve, Billy?_ Of _all_ people _._ Youchose _Steve Harrington.”  
  
_Billy stalls, eyes automatically perching on the letter beside him. He knows Max doesn’t give a shit if it’s a guy or a girl. She was gracious enough (sense the sarcasm) to drunkenly call him and tell him she made out with a girl during a game of Spin the Bottle and that her feminism might actually be lesbianism after all. Which launched her into a wearisome murmured one-sided conversation about how gender doesn’t matter, and how she loves Sinclair, but girls are pretty and understanding. Billy remembers filtering the rest out, slinging an arm over his tired face. And when she’d finished, he’d muttered a sleepy ‘it’s fucking three am, Max’ before slamming the phone down.  
  
It’s just about the _how?_ Has Steve been showing everyone their letters? Or maybe he wasn’t the one sending them in the first place? He swallows, mouth suddenly dry as he opens it to ask. His words snag on his vocal cords. He flexes his jaw. Then clears his throat. “Uh–”  
  
“El was in his head last night, right,” Max carries on, heedless of the dilemma he’s in.   
  
“What the fuck was she doing in his head?” Billy snaps. Despite his relief. Despite the fucking smile on his face because _Steve was thinking of him last night._ “Doesn’t that bitch have any respect of privacy? You’d think Joyce mothering her for the past fuck knows how many years would give her manners.”  
  
“And oh my god, you bastard! You’ve been holding out on me! You didn’t tell me you two were like– a _thing!”_  
  
“We’re not a thing,” Billy answers, calm and solemn. Tamps down the part of him that wants to ask her what El saw. “We’re talking. Through letters.”  
  
“ _Mmhm.”  
  
“Flirting,” _Billy corrects himself with an eye roll. “A little. I think? Just. Fuck off. It’s none of your business.”  
  
Max laughs, delighted. “I knew it!” she gushes. “It’s gross but I knew it!”  
  
Billy frowns. “What’s gross? He’s literally like, a year older than me.”  
  
“He _fathered_ me.”  
  
“You’re fucking disgusting.” Billy hangs up, cutting her laughter off.

**__________________**

**February 22 nd, 1991**

_Steve,_

_Can’t blame me. I’m a hormonal young man with a crazy sex drive.  
  
_ _I don’t know where you got the idea that my name’s William, but you’re wrong. Try again._ _  
  
_ _I get the whole ‘religious household’ thing. And I’m sorry about your parents surprisingly being shittier than I thought, but I can’t stop laughing over the fact you met Nancy at church. Why am I not surprised? Did you two finish each other’s biblical verses? Did you finger her with your fingers crossed?_

_Yep. Graduating this year. I’m going with the flow. We’ll see where it all takes me._

_What about you, Harrington? How’s music going?_ _And your parents? They still giving you a hard time?_

_~Billy  
_

_  
_ He mulls over whether or not he should add a post scriptum and address Steve’s blatant sexuality disclosure with playful humor to make him feel more comfortable about it or whatever. He suspected it ever since Steve referred to a hole to fuck as ‘partner’. He wonders who finally shattered his heterosexual illusion. Eventually, he decides that if he’s to tackle that subject, it would lead to deeper shit that he doesn’t think he can handle.

**__________________**

**March 1 st, 1991**

_Billy,_

_Not blaming you. I’d want me too.  
  
_ _And I got the idea your name’s ‘William’ from your driver’s license, William Anthony Hargrove._ _  
  
_ _Harhar, you’re so funny making religious jokes. Ever thought of becoming a comedian? It’s also kind of ironic considering you have a crucifix tattoo on your hip._

 _I spoke to Robin about the ‘tying her down’ thing. Blackmailed her into applying for university._ _Music is going well._ _I’m gigging around town until I have more than enough money to move away. You opened my eyes to a lot of things, man. Thank you._ _  
  
_ _Max is graduating high school in May (that’s if she stops skipping classes to annoy me. I’d ask you to give her a talk, but you were just as rebellious in school). Will you be here?  
  
I know you’ve vowed to never step foot in Hawkins again, but I’m sure she’d like it if you came._

_— Steve_

**_________________**

**March 9 th, 1991**

_Steve,_

_Where are you planning on moving? Bloomington? Indianapolis? I can’t see you moving too far from your shithole hometown. No offense.  
  
I never really owned a driver’s license, Steve. Max told you my full name, didn’t she? Little bitch. Don’t know why I even keep her around.  
  
And how did you know about that tattoo, you fucking pervert? Taking after Byers, are we? But to clear things up, y’know the whole, ‘you shall not lie with a male as with a woman, it is an abomination’ thing? I got that tattoo for the sheer purpose of watching its symbolism get desecrated when I have men between my legs._

_I wish I could say I’d be there for Max’s graduation, but. Open an animal’s cage and ask it to step in. Y’know? Christ, that sounded lame as fuck. But you get the gist. I’ll throw her a late party when she moves here for college. She tell you she and Sinclair applied for college here? Community college then she’s heading for law school. Maybe Bowl Cut’s moving here too. I’m absolutely stoked to take your role as babysitter!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
You didn’t answer my question about your parents. I’m assuming they’re still complete trash?  
  
I went down to the shelter yesterday and brought home the ugliest cat you’ll ever see. Name suggestions? It’s a he.  
  
~Billy_

**_________________**

**March 23 rd, 1991**

_Billy,  
  
I’m not sure where I’m moving yet. Haven’t planned that far.  
  
I visited you at the hospital every couple of days to see how you’re doing. With Max. So I got to see that tattoo at some point before you were put in that ugly as hell mint green gown with little polka dots. Also, the pic you sent me. But Jesus Christ. Even God hasn’t escaped your clutches.   
  
It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, dude. I just thought the kids would like to see you again. Especially since they don’t believe Max when she talks about how much you’ve changed._

_She’d make a pretty good lawyer. And I can sense your enthusiasm about taking over my role.  
  
I’m fixing to have a talk with my parents soon. Maybe it’ll make moving away easier. :)   
  
That cat is cute as fuck. How dare you call him ugly? I’m sure he’s charming all the lady-cats. Call him Catanova. Please.  
  
– Steve  
  
Also, I heard your birthday is on the 22nd so I left you something in the envelope. Since you lost yours, I mean. Don’t lose this one. It’s gold and custom-made. Happy birthday. Hope you have the worst sex and wake up to a miraculously worse hangover. _

_  
_ Billy runs a thumb over the St. Christopher pendant with a small quirk of his lips. It’s heavier, obviously. And a brighter gold than the one he lost back in Hawkins.  
  
With a small sigh, he pulls it over his head and lets it hang down his chest. The one he’d owned was one his mother had left behind. It held a symbolic sort of value. This, though. This feels more _intimate_ , makes him smile at his reflection even if his scars remain unfading beneath the golden medallion.

**_________________**

**April 1 st, 1991  
  
**_Steve,  
  
Well. Tell me your address when you decide. I don’t want to lose touch any time soon.  
  
You really visited me when I was in a coma? What, did you try kissing me awake too, princess?   
  
I think I like it better that the little shits don’t believe Madmax. Her frustration fuels me. Real talk though, if you ever show our letters to anyone, I’ll hunt you down, Harrington. Got it?  
  
Hope your talk with the folks goes well.   
  
Catanova might be the worst/best cat name I’ve ever come across. You’ve got some good puns up your sleeve, pretty boy.   
  
Thank you for the necklace. I love having a rich friend I can exploit. _♥  
  
_And oh, did I have the BEST birthday sex. Want details?  
  
~Billy_

**_________________**

**April 7 th, 1991**

_Billy,  
  
I will.   
  
No, I didn’t try kissing you awake. And asking me that then calling me ‘princess’ is a little contradictory considering sleeping beauty was the princess and it was the other way around. Get your facts straight, Hargrove.  
  
I think showing our letters to anyone will ruin both our fearsome reputations, don’t you? Don’t upset me though. I’ll end up blackmailing you.  
  
Casanova was my role model growing up, especially since I’m half-Italian. I related to him on a spiritual level. He was so freaking cool.   
  
There’s no need to thank me for the necklace. Just hope I didn’t overstep. I know your last one was important to you. And I thought that since you lost it and all. You know.  
  
Yeah. Give me details about how you rocked some dude’s world with your Excalibur.  
  
– Steve  
  
PS. My birthday’s on the 23rd of April. If you’re wondering. And I think seashells are cool. If you’re wondering._

**_________________**

**April 12 th, 1991  
  
** _Steve,  
  
Are you implying that the princess can’t be the one to wake the prince? Very sexist of you if you ask me. What would Max the Feminazi think? Tsk tsk.  
  
Why did I not know you’re half-Italian? And why are you suddenly 10 times hotter? You’re ruining my standards, tesoro.  
  
And trust me. If you overstepped, I would’ve melted that necklace down and shaped it into a dick or something and sent it right back. I told you I’m on good terms with my mom. My dad threw out everything to do with her when I was a kid. All I managed to get my hands on was that necklace. I’m just surprised you remembered it after all these years._

 _Excalibur? Honestly didn’t peg you as a history guy, Harrington. Kinda sexy. But if you insist on details, I fucked myself open with your name on my tongue and came so many times I almost forgot mine.  
  
~Billy  
  
PS: I’ll keep that in mind.  
  
  
_They’ve been beating around the bush for far too long, Steve _gets that._ But it still hits him like a slap in the face, makes him slam the letter face down onto his desk, heat colouring the tips of his ears red. Makes his cock stir in interest. Billy’s always been unabashed about his sexual appetite. He spoke about sex the way people spoke about the weather, and in a place like Hawkins, that was both frowned upon by the elderly and admired by the youngsters. Especially girls. They admired Billy in a way that they aired by throwing themselves at him and flirting brazenly, trying to get his attention, trying to win a _taste.  
  
_To be on the receiving end turns Steve lightheaded. He tucks the letter away and pulls his glasses off and hopes he has the pluck to answer sometime soon.

**_________________**

“Steeeve,” Max drawls. “Call for you.”  
  
Steve sighs and dries his hands before slinging the towel over his shoulder. The kids are over to supposedly celebrate his birthday. Because apparently, in their dictionary, letting the birthday boy do all the cooking while they lounge beside the pool is equivalent to a good birthday. Things could be worse, Steve reminds himself. They _have been_ worse.  
  
He lifts the phone to his ear. “Steve Harrington speaking.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence, one that has Steve frowning and looking through the window at Max and El and the expectant cheek in their eyes.   
  
“Madmax trick you into pickin’ up?”  
  
Steve inhales a breath, sharp and surprised. _Fuck.  
  
_He hasn’t heard Billy’s voice in years. He hears it in his head when he’s reading his letters but conjuring something from worn memory doesn’t compare to the real thing. And Billy sounds… _  
  
_“Um. Yeah,” Steve lets out. “Yeah. She um,” he ruffles the front of his hair. A nervous tic. And bows his head. “She’s been taking my birthday calls all day,” he chuckles.  
  
Billy laughs on the other end of the line, a breathy, carefree thing that makes Steve rub a hand over his throat, thumb pressing into the _thump-thump-thump_ of his pulse-point. “I was going to send you seashells,” Billy says.   
  
The stab of guilt in Steve’s gut twists. He opens his mouth to explain himself, but nothing comes out.  
  
“I didn’t mean to–” Billy cuts himself short. He sounds different. His voice is the same deep melodic one Steve’s used to, but there’s an edge of maturity filing it around the edges. It’s… sexy. Sex _ier_. “You didn’t answer my letter.”  
  
Steve looks over his shoulder then steps closer to the telephone. “Yeah. I– I was going to. Things’ve just been really messy.”  
  
“So you’re not mad?” Billy asks.   
  
“Mad?” Steve echoes. “Nah. I’m used to your filth, Billy,” he smiles a little, playing with the telephone cord, twirling it around his finger as he shifts his weight between his feet.  
  
Billy laughs again. Makes Steve’s heart stutter in his chest. “Yeah?” he asks. “You know that’s the first time I hear you say my name, Harrington?”  
  
Steve blinks. “No, it isn’t,” he huffs.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Billy retorts. “Say it again.”  
  
Steve needs leverage, something to lean on. He crosses an arm over his chest and puts his weight on the wall beside the phone. “Billy,” he repeats.   
  
Billy takes a breath. “Again.”  
  
“Starting to think you’ve got some sort of god complex, tough guy.”  
  
And Billy laughs. Again. Loud and wild and in a way that has Steve knocking his head back against the wall with a deep breath.   
  
“C’mon, Harrington,” Billy drawls. “Say it one more time.”  
  
“ _Billy,_ ” Steve says, _spits._ Like it’s a curse word. Itearns him a quiet, throaty chuckle. Feels good bring able to draw so much laughter out of him.  
  
_“Steve,”_ Billy answers. And Steve’s heard Billy say his name. So many times, he’s lost count. _King Steve_. _Steve Harrington. His Imperial Majesty Steven Harrington. Steve the Great._ Always so _disdainful_. Now it sounds like a confession. Like Billy had put his every iota of letter-built feelings into the 5-lettered name.   
  
There’s a long period of silence before Steve talks again, “I told my parents,” he states. “About– About everything. They– weren’t happy,” he smiles, crumpled and hurt, as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Understatement of the century,” he gives a nasal laugh. Then a louder one that will without a doubt turn to tears if he doesn’t smother it.   
  
Billy’s quiet.   
  
“Y’know, started talking about hormones and _Robin_ being bad influence or whatever,” Steve rolls his eyes and licks over his mouth. Then he realizes this is the first time they’ve spoken, and his guilt threatens to fill his lungs and suffocate him. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” Billy answers on an exhale, easyand unbothered. “Feels good being a human journal to your royal highness.”  
  
Steve laughs, shaking his head with fond annoyance.  
  
“Hey listen. The kids are getting in position to throw me a _surprise_ party,” he says. “They do it every year and expect me to act surprised every time.”  
  
“Do you?” Billy asks, amused.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve replies, bashful. Makes them both laugh. “So I – I’ve got to go.”  
  
“Ok,” Billy answers. “Happy birthday, Harrington.”  
  
Steve tuts his tongue. “Told you not to call me that anymore.”  
  
He knows Billy’s grinning, probably doing that nasty tongue wag too. “Ok, _pretty boy,”_ he amends. “Have sex as good as mine with me in mind.”  
  
Steve flushes. Clearly gets the implication behind Billy’s words. “Ok. Whatever. Send me shells.”  
  
Billy laughs. “I will. When you respond to my letter.”  
  
“Hey, Billy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Steve hesitates. “Are you. Okay? How are you?”  
  
“Better now that I got to hear _King Steve’s_ voice.”

**_________________**

**April 26 th 1991  
  
**_Billy,  
  
I feel like replying in letters when we can call each other is weird. But since you’re such an old-fashioned guy, we’ll just have to keep it this way.  
  
My mom’s Italian. Dad met her when he was in Florence and they forgot the condom. I’m a child of love. Except they don’t actually love each other. Whatever. But I had to learn Italian to communicate with her family better when we visited. Good thing you find my Italian heritage hot I guess?  
  
I’m sorry about your dad. He’s still an asshole. I had the honor of meeting him last month for the divorce papers since mom’s his lawyer.   
  
Your birthday sex sounds lame. Hot. But lame. Didn’t think your crush on me was an ongoing thing. Does fucking my fist thinking of you count as lame birthday sex? It was pretty lame.   
  
I was wondering if you could do me a favor. Since you live in Sacramento, could you maybe ask around if anyone needs a roommate? Thanks in advance.  
  
– Steve _

**_________________**

“Hello, big brother. Long time no–”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me about the divorce?”  
  
Max goes quiet. She clears her throat and shuffles. “Look, it’s no big deal.”  
  
Billy scoffs, echoing her ‘no big deal’ back at her. “What was the last straw?” he asks. “Did he hit you?”  
  
“What? _No,”_ Max exclaims. She doesn’t elaborate on that and doesn’t answer Billy’s question either.   
  
“Then?” Billy presses. “He hit Susan?”  
  
“Jesus _Christ,_ Billy. He didn’t _hit_ anyone,” Max groans. “Mom just found out he’s cheating and. Yeah. How did you find out?”  
  
Billy sighs. “‘Course he’s cheating,” he mutters. “Fucking piece of shit. Isn’t it time he kicks the bucket?” he runs his fingers through his hair, glad it wasn’t as bad as he initially thought. “Steve told me his mom’s working on the divorce papers or somethin’.”  
  
“Oh, _Steve_ told you?” she asks, all knowing and prying. She follows it up with a playful laugh.   
  
“Stop tryna make this about me. You’re such a cunt sometimes, y’know that?” Billy says, absently playing with the corner of Steve’s letter. “Fuckin’ glad they’re divorcing. That officially makes you my _ex stepsister.”  
  
_Max tuts her tongue. “Asshole.”  
  
“Bitch.”  
  
“Jerk.”  
  
“Shitbird.”  
  
“Homo.”  
  
“Touché,” Billy gives in. “And uh. Tell Susan I’m, y’know. She helped me get my shit together after everything, so I owe her.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
Billy hangs up.

_________________

 **May 2 nd 1991  
  
** _Steve,  
  
I like the thrill of waiting for a letter. Forgive a man for not wanting to lose interest. But you have my number so you can call me up if you’re so inclined.   
  
An Italian love child? Damn, you’re almost fictional, babe. You sure you didn’t step out of a children’s book?  
  
I didn’t know Susan and Neil are getting divorced. If you hadn’t told me, I don’t think I would’ve ever found out. But yeah, my old man’s a fucking piece of work. Sorry you had to face that.  
  
You’re acting like you don’t have a boner for me. You’re not being slick, Harrington. We both know that my ongoing crush on you is requited. Still good to know your birthday nooky was as good as mine.  
  
I know a couple of people who need a roommate. Is it for Robin? If it is, and if she’s single, I know a dyke she would LOVE. If she isn’t, I know a few other people who need to split the bills. Just tell her to give me a call.   
  
~Billy_

**_________________**

**May 10 th 1991  
  
** _Billy,  
  
Letters give me the chance to think before answering. Also, I don’t think I can handle hearing your voice. Gave me a migraine back in school. Oh my god, you were always running your mouth.  
  
You going to keep making ‘princess’ jokes, Hargrove? They’re getting boring. Up your game.  
  
I’m sorry you had to find out about Susan and Neil through me. I thought you were up to date with Hawkins’ gossip. Your dad and mine got along well. You know, birds of a feather and all.  
  
You’re way too confident. But if you’re trying to get me to deny it, that won’t be happening. I mean, we both admitted to jerking off to each other so let’s not be all heterosexual denial about it.  
  
The roommate isn’t for Robin. It’s for me.   
  
It’s just like. I want to be the guy who takes risks, you know? Quit work without a backup job and move to another state. Haven’t done anything thrilling in a while. So. Yeah. I’m sticking around for the kids’ graduation then I’m fucking out. Let me be the Casanova of our generation.  
  
Heard you graduated. Congratulations, Billy. I feel like a proud parent. Are you STILL going where the wind blows?  
  
– Steve _

**_________________**

**May 27 th 1991  
  
**“Stop moping.”  
  
“I’m not moping,” Steve answers, pumping as much nonchalance into his tone. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”  
  
Robin rolls her eyes. “Steve, c’mon. He’s probably busy looking for a job or something,” she puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “You could always call him.”  
  
“I’m not _thinking about him,_ Rob,” Steve swats her hand away. “Seriously. I don’t care.”  
  
“He called today.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Aha!” she points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re _moping_!”  
  
Steve tuts his tongue in annoyance. Then he shrugs, opting for silent agreement. She pours a drink and pushes it his way before leaning forward. “You should call him tomorrow after the grad ceremony.”  
  
Steve knocks back his drink and nods. “Yeah. I should,” he mutters. “And you should get home. I’ll lock up when I’m done _moping._ ”  
  
Robin reaches over and ruffles his hair. Makes him duck out of her touch with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she stands up. “I’ll leave the umbrella. Since you were dumb enough to wear _that,”_ she nods pointedly at the polo tee beneath his skimpy hoodie. Steve waves her off, smile straightening when the door swings shut behind her.  
  
He’s dusting the bar when the bell above the door jingles. “We’re closed.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence. Then, “Even for me?”  
  
Steve’s head whips up so fast he thinks he may have pulled a muscle. And. _Fuck.  
  
Fuck.  
  
_He stands upright, clearing his throat. He takes him in. From his hair, tied up into a wet bun, stray strands stuck to his temples with rain, to his ridiculously tight shirt tucked into a light pair of jeans. “Not the right outfit for Hawkins’ weather,” Steve says. Like a dork. “You’re making a mess out of my floor, Hargrove.”  
  
Billy’s face breaks into a grin. Makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and his cheek dimple. Steve’s grip on the duster turns white-knuckled.   
  
“Spicier than _hi,”_ Billy greets. Makes Steve wonder if Billy’s been reading their letters nearly as much as him to remember that from _a year ago._ “Can I come in?”  
  
Steve squints an eye, playing pensive. “Depends, do you give generous tips?”   
  
“You’ll just hav’ta find out.” Billy’s shoes squelch as he walks over to the stool opposite from Steve.  
  
Steve’s a good bartender. But something about Billy just thieves him of professionalism. He lets go of the duster. “Want a drink?”  
  
Billy shakes his head. “Water’s fine,” he picks up the glass of room-temperature water neglected on the bar and gulps it down. It tastes bitter from lying around. Billy pulls a face.  
  
“Thought you weren’t gonna step back into Hawkins.”  
  
“Eh. It was a last-minute thing,” Billy replies, waving a hand as if it’s nothing. “And I’m not just here for the graduation.”  
  
Steve’s heart skips a beat. “Oh.”  
  
They look at each other for a few seconds longer before Steve breaks the silence. “Do you. You’ll get a cold if you stay in that” he states. Nods his chin at Billy’s sopping shirt.  
  
Billy looks down at it, starts unbuttoning it even as he says, “If you wanna see me naked, just say the word, pretty boy.”  
  
“Did you drive straight here?” Steve asks conversationally. “Like, do you have clothes in your car or something?”  
  
“No. Motel first. And I don’t drive anymore,” Billy replies. Nods his thanks when Steve takes the shirt from him and wrings it out in the sink behind him. He drapes it on the bar to let it air-dry and finally looks at him. Really _looks.  
  
_Looks at the silvery scar high on his cheekbone, the ones on his knuckles, his shoulders, centering his torso. Billy’s jaw clenches and he kind of, perfunctorily crosses an arm over his chest and leans forward to hide what’s left with the height of the bar. Steve clears his throat. “You didn’t answer my letter.”  
  
Billy licks his mouth, drawing Steve’s eyes to his lips. The room feels like it’s getting warmer by the second. “Thought you’d appreciate some, _one-on-one.”  
  
_And _Jesus Christ,_ he’s still a flirt. Steve sees goosebumps rise on Billy’s arms. “You cold?” he asks, shifting the subject. He pulls his useless hoodie off and rounds the bar to hand it to him. To be a little closer. To maybe let their fingers brush by accident on purpose. To see if Billy’s wearing the necklace he sent him.   
  
He is.   
  
Billy pushes his arms through the sleeve holes. Pulls his manbun loose. The closeness sort of cripples what’s left of Steve’s composure. His hand trembles and the zip gets stuck and his knuckles brush damp skin and–  
  
“Hey, hey,” Billy coos, hand covering Steve’s. Makes him let go of the hoodie altogether. “Hey. I knew I was hot, but not hot enough to cause a meltdown.”  
  
Steve looks up from their hands. “You’re a real fucking narcissist,” he says on a breath. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”  
  
Billy offers a lopsided grin. “Clashing statements,” he says, always so fucking _blasé.  
  
_Steve’s other hand comes to rest on the cicatrix middling Billy’s chest, warm against the cold medallion there. Billy’s breath hitches in his chest, lips parting. The skin’s lumpy, a little scaly under the palm of Steve’s hand, turned pale over the past few years. Dead if it weren’t for the steady beating inside. He looks up at him, a little pleased to have filched his poise so _easily._ Billy doesn’t seem to mind, grips the top of Steve’s hand like he wants to shove it inside his chest and make him feel what he’s doing to him.   
  
Steve scratches lightly, drawing a wounded sound from Billy’s lips. Makes Steve’s lips lift at the corner. “Sensitive?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Billy answers, tries to sound feisty. Fails miserably. “You gonna kiss me or be all _heterosexual_ about it _?_ ”  
  
Steve lifts a brow.  
  
“Fuckin’ kiss me,” Billy demands. Like it’s his God-given right. He _would_ sound tough if it weren’t for the ‘ _please’_ he adds a second later. And who’s Steve to say no to that?  
  
Thing is, he’s kissed plenty of people before. Remembers most of them because each kiss felt different. _Meant_ different. But kissing Billy–  
  
Kissing Billy is the kind of _different_ that makes everyone else seem the same. There’s Billy. Then there’s the rest of the world. And once Steve starts, he can’t really stop. He frames Billy’s face with shaky hands and warms his lips with his tongue until Billy’s mouth goes pliant. Billy’s fingers tangle in his hair, flex and loosen and make the calluses at his fingertips scrape against Steve’s scalp. It hauls a guttural sound from the back of Steve’s throat.   
  
Then he pulls back, makes Billy chase his lips for a second before reclaiming composure. “You been smoking?” his voice’s kiss-hoarse. “Thought you’re quitting.”  
  
Billy nods. “Yeah,” he breathes, inattentive. Steve doubts he’s listening. “Was lookin’ for another dirty habit to replace it,” he pulls Steve back in. Covers his mouth with his own. It’s deeper, filthier. Billy’s hand creeps underneath the front of Steve’s shirt, rings cool against Steve’s skin. He playfully traps Steve’s bottom lip between his smile when Steve moves back.   
  
Billy’s hands stop roaming when Steve’s come to rest on his chest. His jaw draws taut and Steve only just glimpses the insecurity in his eyes before he’s ducking his head down. Replacing the tremor of his fingers with the certainty of his lips. Billy hangs his head to watch him, brushes his hair away from his face and dents his lip with his canine when Steve’s breath whispers over his nipple.   
  
A part of Steve wants to stop him, wants to know where this will lead them. The other part, the hornier, irrational, _selfish_ part of him reigns over. Controls Steve’s body like a marionette.  
  
He dips his hand into the waistband of Billy’s jeans the same time he wraps his lips around the hardened bud. Billy’s fist tightens in his hair, presses him closer. He parts his thighs, rakes his nails down the nape of Steve’s neck and under the collar of his shirt to dig his nails into his skin. Steve bites his nipple in retaliation and presses his nail against his slit, hard enough to border on painful. Billy cries out. Which eggs the fucker on, makes him move his hand faster and smother Billy’s sounds with deep, hot kisses. Billy spills his load into Steve’s fist and the whisper of his name into his mouth.   
  
Steve’s back hits the bar the same time Billy’s knees hit the floor.  
  
Billy has Steve’s jeans halfway down his thighs before he’s burying his face in his crotch, breathing in deeply. He mouths at his cockhead through the black cotton. Steve distinctly wonders if this is what it’s like to be _worshipped._ “Y’want this?” Billy asks. Looks up from where he’s kneeling. Fire pools low in Steve’s abdomen as he nods.  
  
He doesn’t last long either. Billy pulls his cock out and croons his praise, fucking looks at his length like it hung the moon and stars or something. He doesn’t even give warning, just crams it down his throat and sucks. Hums when Steve tugs at his hair. Keeps going. Takes him deeper, sucks harder. Steve _shakes_ through his release, bites on his knuckles to stifle Billy’s name.  
  
He can’t even bringhimselfto stand. He goes limp and nearly falls if it isn’t for Billy’s hold on his thighs.   
  
Billy tries mouth-feeding him his own flavor but he pushes him away, laughing tiredly. “Just. Stay put. I’ll finish up and drive you– where are you staying?”  
  
“Motel 6,” Billy answers. “One bed. Thick walls…” he trails off. Licks his lips like he’s 17 again and flirting with the moms of Hawkins.  
  
Steve rolls his eyes.

**_________________**

  
“Kids are graduating in an hour.”  
  
“Wish I gave a fuck.”  
  
Steve laughs, running his fingers along Billy’s back, slow enough to count his vertebrae if he wanted. “You weren’t lying about not being here for the graduation, huh?”  
  
Billy lags. His forefinger freezes where it’s been drawing lazy patterns on Steve’s chest and Steve thinks maybe time stopped for a moment. Then Billy’s lifting his head to look at him. “Was gonna ask you about the roommate thing. You serious about that?”  
  
Steve blinks. “Uh. I guess. I mean, I don’t wanna move to Sacramento to follow you or anything. Like, if you don’t want– I just thought. I dunno, I thought it’d be better if I moved somewhere. Y’know. Somewhere I _know_ people,” he pauses to give a nervous chuckle. “I know I’m cool and shit but it’s _really_ hard to make new friends, alright?”  
  
“So it’s not about being closer to me?”  
  
“What? _No,”_ Steve furrows his brows. Laughs when Billy scowls grumpily. “ _That_ would be a bonus, but the world doesn’t revolve around you, Billy.”  
  
Billy shrugs casually, slinging a leg over both of Steve’s. “Ok. Since y’don’t care about me _specifically,_ I guess I’ll look for a different roommate.”  
  
It takes Steve a second to register what Billy’s getting at, and when he does, he props himself up on his elbows and makes Billy draw back. “Wait. You’re asking me to move in?”  
  
“I _was,”_ Billy corrects. “Not anymore. Catanova an’ I have progressed past the need for you an’ your dumb fuckin’–”  
  
Steve doesn’t care which of his features Billy’s meaning to target right now, fences the rest of his slander in with his lips. Billy’s words melt into a surprised moan. He hums a wordless ‘that’s what I’m talking about’ when Steve climbs on top of him.   
  
Then someone knocks on the bedroom door and Steve alights from Billy in a blink. “Steve! Are you decent? We’re coming in!”  
  
“No!”  
  
Dustin comes in.  
  
There’s a moment of ringing silence where Billy whistles a tune to entertain himself before Dustin opens his mouth. “Holy. Shit,” he says.  
  
The same time Max and El say, “We told you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im active on [tumblr!](https://inkedplume.tumblr.com/)


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